


Bewitchment

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-16
Updated: 2005-10-16
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Luna shows Neville a new plant in one of the greenhouses, one with unexpectedly potent characteristics.





	Bewitchment

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Neville bites into his toast, turning a page in his Charms text and leaving a smear of butter on the parchment. Swiping at the stain with his napkin only makes it worse, and he gives it up as a lost cause. He looks around, hoping no one else has noticed. Everyone else is engrossed in their own breakfast; the few students not seated at the tables are involved in more important things than watching him eat. Propping the book against the salt cellar, he resumes reading, this time wiping his fingers on his napkin before turning a page.

A shadow falling across the page makes him look up, squinting as morning sunlight strikes him in the eyes. Fortunately, the shadow sits beside him, and he finally recognises Luna, once the sunspots dancing in his vision fade. She watches him almost expectantly, clutching a copy of her father's magazine The Quibbler to her chest.

"Hello, Neville," she says, setting down the magazine. "Do you have a moment? I wanted to show you something."

"Um, sure." He budges over to give her more space, wondering what it is she wants him to see. He hopes it isn't yet another article reporting the existence of some mythical beast. Luna may wholeheartedly trust the existence of Crumple-horned Snorkacks, Nargles, and Wrackspurts; but Neville stopped believing in fairy tales and miracles long ago. He prefers things with a bit more evidence than vague second- or third-hand reports from anonymous sources.

Luna gives him a distant, yet pleased smile before opening the magazine, flipping rapidly through the pages until she finds what she seeks. "Ginny says you're very good at Herbology," she says, pointing to a picture in the upper right-hand corner. "I thought you might know of this."

He looks at the picture, a lovely watercolour print of a plant he's quite sure he's never seen. He studies the meticulously rendered fern-like leaves and the pale blue, bell-shaped flowers with thoughtful care, trying to remember, to find a wisp of memory. He can't recall ever seeing or reading about such a plant, and concedes defeat with a small sigh.

Shaking his head, he pushes the magazine back toward her. "What is it supposed to be? The leaves look like a lot like a variation of Artemisia, but the flowers more closely resemble something from ...." He pauses, thinking, and shakes his head again. 

Luna smiles and leans forward until her lips brush his ear. "I thought I saw a live specimen in Greenhouse Eight yesterday. It looks like the painting, so it must be. Would you like to see it?"

Neville hesitates. He really ought to refuse, as his Charms essay is due Monday and he hasn't even begun writing. He can't ask for Hermione's help, either, now that she's with Harry and Ron, searching for artefacts that may or may not exist. It's a beautiful Saturday morning, though; and there won't be many more days like this before winter set in. Plus, there is the undeniable lure of studying a plant even more rare than his own Mimbulus mimbletonia.

"All right," he says at last. Luna beams, and Neville wonders if perhaps he isn't the first person she's asked. He pretends he doesn't hear Romilda Vane's derisive snicker as he carefully marks his place in the Charms text so he won't forget and returns it to his book bag. 

"Bring your toast," Luna says pragmatically as he stands, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Greenhouse Eight is where Professor Sprout keeps plants too rare or too dangerous to include in the regular curriculum; and only her best and brightest NEWT-level students are granted access. Neville visits as often as his other studies permit, helping her tend the varied specimens and studying their life cycles and behaviours. He finds it curious that Luna should want his company when she's also one of the few allowed entry.

"Where did you see it?" he asks, once they're safely inside and hidden from prying eyes. Belatedly, he adds, "Does Professor Sprout know we're here?"

"We shouldn't be long. Oh, those must be my Potions scales. I lost them last week." Luna looks and sounds unconcerned as she picks up the scales and stows them away in her own bag. 

Neville lets Luna lead him down one of the aisles, a portion of his mind noticing how the plants grow greener and more lush with each step, many of them flowering, fruiting or going to seed even though they're not supposed to do so, not in October. Motes of dust and pollen drift in the sunlit air, and they have to back away more than once as fronds and flowers reach toward them, rubbing against the sleeves of their robes, trying to twine around their limbs.

"Something's not right," Neville says, batting away a persistent tendril of flowering moonmint. "I was here earlier in the week and none of the plants were like this."

Luna merely shrugs, giggling when the petals from an Abyssinian rose brushes against her cheek. "You worry too much, Neville. They were like this yesterday, too. The plants feel happy. We should let them."

They locate the plant in an unused office. The fern-like leaves rustle as they approach, the pale blue flowers edged with the faintest tinge of pink. Neville remains by the door as Luna kneels before the specimen, breathing deeply. Her hand lifts, fingertips stroking the blue petals, and Neville sees the blooms' edges flush a deeper pink.

"Oh, they smell even better up close," she says dreamily, and Neville finally notices the light fragrance in the close, humid air. It's a complex melange of ylang-ylang and sandalwood, nutmeg and a strange but not unpleasant tangy muskiness. He's kneeling beside Luna almost before he knows it, wanting to breathe in more of that heady scent.

"You're right, it does smell better here," he says, and Luna gives him a pleased smile. "D'you reckon it's why the other plants are so, well, happy?"

"I think it's happy to see us," Luna whispers, bending closer to one of the belled flowers, which has closed its petals into a moue, almost as if expecting a kiss. "See?"

The petals ripple, and the entire plant convulses as the closed flower expels a golden cloud of pollen into the air. Neville and Luna catch most of the powdery stream on their faces, and they fall back, coughing and rubbing at their streaming eyes.

"I guess it wasn't so happy, after all," Neville says once the coughing subsides and he can breathe again. "I think we've seen enough. We should go before we get into trouble." 

"You worry too much," Luna says again, but rises onto her knees agreeably enough. "Nothing bad happened."

"That flower just sneezed on us!" Neville points out, jabbing a finger at the offending bloom, which has unfurled its petals once more. It brushes against him gently and he jerks his hand away. 

The air remains thick with pollen, swirling gently through the enclosed space, and he suddenly becomes aware of how warm it is in this small room. He glances over to Luna, at the flecks of pollen spangling her eyebrows and eyelashes, tinting them a darker gold, seeing she's reached the same conclusion when she loosens the collar of her robes.

Their gazes catch, and hold; and it's become difficult to breathe again. Luna reaches for the clasps fastening her robes the same time Neville does, and it becomes a race to see who pulls them off first. Neville's shirt is already damp between his clavicles as he drops the robes onto the floor.

The aroma of flowers and spice and musk is dizzying, but in a good way. Neville tries to think how dizziness can be pleasant and fails. He likes this strange light-headedness, wondering if this is what Luna feels all the time. 

"We should go," he says again, weakly. 

And then Luna is facing him, her fingers combing lightly through his hair, the touch leaving a tingling trail of sensation in its wake. Her pale eyes are even more unfocused than usual, turned almost completely inward. "I've always wanted to do that," she says, her tongue touching her bottom lip, a small entrancing slick of moisture, and Neville can't look away. It's wet, inviting; and he brushes his thumb against it, touches damp flesh that's slightly chapped and rough yet soft, which makes no sense at all but it does.

Her lips close over his thumb, teeth grazing the skin, tongue swirling warmth. It seeps through the whorls and lines, into his pores, into blood and bone and thought and memory. Luna draws back with a final lick, pollen still clinging to her eyelashes like gold dust and benediction, fingers closing around his wrist. She lowers his hand slowly, his fingertips grazing her throat and over the thin cotton of her blouse, clasping both hands over Neville's own and pressing his palm to the soft curve of one breast. 

"You smell and taste just like the flowers," she says, and kisses him.

"Luna…we shouldn't…" Neville gasps when she releases him in favour of trailing her lips along his jawline. "Professor Sprout…"

"…is in Hogsmeade," Luna replies, claiming his mouth once more.

This is bewitchment, Neville has enough time to think; but whether it's of an enchantment broken or one he's falling deeper into, he no longer knows or cares. His senses fill with essences of exotic flowers and spices and the taste of crisp tart apples as his mouth parts beneath Luna's and his tongue slides along hers. His hand is still on her breast, his palm rubbing against it, drinking in her muffled moans.

So entranced is he by the warmth of her lips slanting across his own that it's a moment before Neville realises that Luna's fingers have deftly unbuttoned his shirt. Her hands slip beneath the fabric, pushing it from his shoulders and along his arms until it's off. He can still feel where her fingertips brushed along skin, shivering when her hands skate back up his arms to his shoulders. 

Luna's blouse is unbuttoned also; Neville can't remember doing such a thing, or even if he's the one responsible. All he knows is that she is as pale as her namesake, her skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat and her own inner luminescence. Strange that he's never noticed it until now. 

"Did you know you glimmer?" Luna asks. "Like sunlight on snow. You're very bright."

Neville can't think of anything to say to this; indeed, he finds it difficult to think at all, so he says nothing. He would rather see the contrast of his sun-browned hands against her white breasts; watch the shimmer of moon-blonde hair fan around Luna's head as she lies back on the ground, bringing him with her. He'd rather bend his head and take one pale pink nipple, the same pink edging the blue flowers nodding above them, into his mouth. She tastes sweet, and sounds sweeter, like apples and music as she clasps him to her, the fingers of one hand dancing lightly along the length of his spine to his waist.

He shifts over her to suckle at her other breast, wanting to discover if it's as sweet as the first, his breath stuttering when her hand glides from his waist to his belly, and then lower, to close around his cock. It twitches, straining against his jeans, and he draws back, gasping. 

The tiniest of smiles plays across Luna's lips. Her fingers graze the denim in a last, teasing touch before going to her own waist. Neville swallows against the dryness in his throat, seemingly the only aridity in this close, fecund space as she lifts her hips and pushes her skirt down past slim pale thighs, exposing a thatch of blonde curls glistening with dew.

"You, too," she murmurs, stretching beneath him. "Oh, Neville, you too…it's so nice!"

His jeans join her skirt moments later, and then Luna's kissing him again with languid thoroughness, her hips undulating against his, rubbing at his cock in a manner that drives any last vestigial thoughts of leaving from Neville's brain. He aches with need, wanting everything she offers so freely. She's so soft and giving beneath his hands, skin like damp silk. He can't get enough of her sweetness and salt, breaking free from her lips so that he can lick at her throat, and her breasts, and further.

The scent of her arousal exactly matches the tangy, musky notes of the blossoms' fragrance; and it's here, lying between Luna's thighs, that Neville finds what he needs to ease his parched throat. Her wetness is water in the desert, flooding his mouth with earthy richness, making him want more. Luna gasps and sobs, writhing beneath his tongue as it delves into her until she stiffens, her back arching, her cries intoxicating as she provides what he seeks. Neville licks and suckles at the fresh surge of moisture coating his lips, his tongue, until he's replete.

Luna moans at the taste of her juices on Neville's tongue when he slides along her body to kiss her. She's no longer pale, but flushed a deep pink, blossoming. Her hands stroke down Neville's ribcage; past his waist and to his hips, gathering him to her, her legs spreading more widely apart as she guides him inside. Blue eyes widen as he sinks into her, her lips shaping into a startled O; and Neville bends his forehead to press against hers, trembling, feels her stretch around him hot and wet and so very tight.

She squeezes around him, legs curling around Neville's waist, fingers curling into his shoulders, fingernails biting deep into sun-kissed skin, breath mingling between them as Neville begins to move within her. His brows knit, eyes slipping shut in fierce concentration, hips snapping against Luna's as he thrusts into her, heat and friction and then Luna clenches around him, tight and pulsating, rocking against him, back and forth over and over and it's too much, too much.

Neville stiffens, head thrown back, the cords in his neck straining, the sound of his gasps and Luna's moans filling his ears as he spills deep inside her, hot sticky liquid warmth that feels as though it will never end, the light behind his tightly shut eyes incandescent. He whimpers when Luna clamps down on his softening cock, shaking with aftershock.

Withdrawing from Luna's wet welcoming sheath is almost like pain. Neville slumps beside her, almost collapsing. He stares at the glass ceiling, unable to move, watching the pollen drift and swirl through the still air. Luna presses against him, her head cradled on his shoulder, her fingers idly toying with a nipple. He hisses at the flash of sensation, and she stops, resting her hand on his belly instead. She's warm, and comfortable, and the light falling through the panes hurts Neville's eyes. He turns his head, his chin against Luna's head, hair soft and a bit ticklish as he closes his eyes and drifts away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They're still sleeping when Professor Sprout discovers them later that morning. Shaking her head, she covers their nakedness before waking them, leaving the door open to air out the small space. She turns her back as they dress silently, Neville's face scarlet and dazed, Luna wearing a deeply satisfied smile that fades when the professor orders her to visit Madam Pomfrey.

She gives both students detention before sending them back to the castle. Her attention goes to the specimen of Artemisia fragrans var. aphrodisiaca, frowning. She's only had possession of the plant for two days, and Longbottom and Lovegood are the third couple she's found fallen victim to the plant's spell. They'll be sharing detention with Susan Bones, Blaise Zabini, Lavender Brown and Terry Boot. 

Weaving a Barrier spell to protect herself from the pollen, Professor Sprout picks up the plant, trying to decide where she can possibly conceal it next, before its magic ensnares more students in its potent web.


End file.
